


Morte

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: BDSM, Blood, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, F/M, Face-Fucking, Floor Sex, Gun Kink, Hostage Situations, Knifeplay, Knives, Needles, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Restraints, Ritual Sex, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Roleplay, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, Violent Sex, Wall Sex, kidnapping fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: The new Papa takes you hostage in a bloody game the two of you love to play.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader, Papa Emeritus III/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Morte

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Please do not read this if you are not into CNC or hostage fantasy in any way. This is meant for those that are into it, so if you don't like it, don't read it. Fair warning, this gets scary!
> 
> If you have been following me for a while, you may recognize this fic! It's a modified fic I've posted before for a different fandom. Rewrote this to torture friends. You know the deal.

You had been attending to sisterly duties all morning. Copia had still been sleeping when you left, as he’d been up until 5 this morning approving the plans for new architecture around the abbey and ghoul uniforms now that he was Papa. Now it was around 3 in the afternoon, and you hope he’s awake– it makes you smile hearing his voice and getting a kiss from him when you get finished with your day and visit. It was Friday now, and you know Copia has this weekend off to relax amidst the hectic first few months as head of the Church. It’s a rare time to enjoy some you time together, instead of sneaking quickies and half-nights here and there when possible.

You slip the key with a finger bone dangling from it from your bra, and let yourself into his private chambers. You drop your purse and keys on the antique coffee table, and look around. The room is completely dark, and the blackout curtains are drawn. He’s either working again, out, or— 

Your foot kicks something, and you slowly turn the lock behind you to make sure the front door is closed before picking it up. It’s a piece of parchment paper. You open it suspiciously, and it’s blank save for a few words handwritten in scrawling red ink:

 _Safe word:_ _morte._

You let the paper flutter to the floor, and clutch your habit as you feel your heartbeat pick up in excitement. Well, this was one way to start your weekend with Copia.

“Hello?” you call, taking a few steps down the dark hall. You can barely see, so you feel along the wall. It’s unnerving—you can’t hear anything. No music, no noise. Just eerie silence. It’s odd, since he always needs background noise. A few rat squeaks make you jump, but your heartbeat soon regulates again. You wonder where he is, where he’s waiting for you.

A flash of real fear shoots through you as you hear a creak behind you.

“Copia?” you hiss, and turn. You bite your lip when you see nobody, and turn back to keep walking ahead. Your feet make the floorboards moan, your fingertips brushing the cold black wallpaper. You walk past his private kitchen, and look around. Your blood runs cold. Three of the knives are missing. No, four. It’s hard to see in the dark. 

You keep walking, trying to flick on one of the oil lamp, but all the power’s been switched off from the master panel. He sure does pay attention to detail.

You take another step to look for a candle instead—he’s got lots of those around—when something bumps behind you. Before you have time to turn around or scream, you see a black cloth wrap around your head from behind, and tighten against your face. You try to make a noise, but the sack seals around you, and after inhaling an odd herbal smell, you go pliant.

—

The bag is removed.

Your eyes have since adjusted to the dark, so you can see the faint glow of candlelight in the room you’re in. You can’t move. You take in your surroundings. It’s one of the rooms in Copia’s apartment, emptied of its contents save for a single red velvet Victorian armchair and a table. From what you can see, the walls and floors bear methodically painted sigils, each a different offering to a different demon. Jerking your arms, you find that you’re naked, tied tightly to a chair, wrists and ankles bound. 

“Pleasant dreams, cara?” 

Copia stands in front of you, eyes downcast on something he’s organizing upon the table. He’s in his full Papal vestments, his paint on and eyed shadowed black as an abyss. He looks beautiful, and deadly.

You jerk against your restraints again.

“Let me go,” you whisper. The excitement and trepidation of what he’s about to do fills you just like you wish he would. He doesn’t respond, only starts to tap his gloved fingers along the table of instruments. He finally takes a breath, composes himself, and pauses his work.

“You will address me as Papa. Is this understood?”

You look around the room, trying to search for some way to escape. For now, you agree. “Yes, Papa.”

“You slept for longer than I thought you would. Naughty Sister. I was beginning to get impatient.” He finally turns to you, pattering his fingers along the table. “You like to keep your Papa waiting, eh?” He lifts his chin in question, leering down at you. His position over you is ominous, and for the first time since his ascension, he looks every bit the part of Dark Eminence.

You swallow, throat dry with a lump forming. “No.”

He sucks his cheekbones in a little, in mild irritation. “No, what?”

“No, Papa.”

“Mm.” He turns back to his work. “I thought not. That is a good little Sister. Buona risposta. Still. You aren’t about to talk your way out of this…” He traces whatever rests upon the plastic-wrapped table. “…Are you?” You shake your head, as best you can. “Mmm, no. Good little ghuleh.” You shudder, and he begins to circle the table. “I’ve been meaning to make offerings of good faith for a prosperous reign as Papa. You are just the thing I need to do this, eh?” Your heartbeat pounds so loud you’re sure he can hear it. “Of course, some rituals require a few drops of blood. But we are no strangers to this, hm? We serve Him every day. Now you may serve Him and your Papa. What a blessing I have bestowed upon you, dolce.” He strokes your chin, and you look up at him. Gone is the timid Cardinal, replaced by a far more sinister personality. You can already feel yourself getting wet. “—Now, we begin. Uno…. due…. tre…” he whispers, and starts to count the objects in Italian.

Copia doesn’t speak in Italian as much as the Third Papa does, but you’d recently discovered he was born in Florence and lived much of his childhood and teens there before the Church wrote for him. That just added to the many mysteries you constantly unraveled regarding your partner, but you dare not say anything. Interrupting the roleplay without a safe word was severely punishable ( _by death today, so it would seem…)_

You glance at the table, trying to squint through the low light of the flickering candles. There are instruments of torture, half of them everyday objects turned sinister like pliers and knives, and half collectible relics that must’ve been used to pull people’s nipples off or turn them into the Joker. Scattered throughout, there are also what look to be instruments of pleasure. It all depends on which one he lands on. Silently, you pray to the Olde One he doesn’t land on any–

“Dieci,” he strokes something, and you wait with baited breath. He turns, holding between his index finger and thumb a sewing needle and thread. You try to swallow again, but it burns this time. “Oh,” he whispers, letting the needle dance between his leather-clad fingertips. “Try not to scream too loud, si? We wouldn’t want any ghouls sniffing around the walls to see if they can get a _bite_.”

Clawing at the arms of the chair you’re strapped to, you begin to thrash. “Please. Please Papa, don’t do this.” He seems to hesitate for a second, waiting for you to give the safe word. Blinking your eyelashes up at him, you don’t.

Copia advances on you, holding you by the chin. You can see the outline of his bulge when his chasuble brushes back; he’s getting off on the power he has over you, and so are you. “You are serving such a purpose, angelo caduto,” he breathes in your ear, and as you hold in a scream, he runs the thin needle through your bottom lip. It comes out over your tongue, and he pulls it over to make a ring of thread around your lip, the faint tinge of blood mixing with the steel of the sharp object. The pain stings, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. It’s just like an extreme piercing… of sorts.

“Taking it so good,” he praises you. He holds the string between your teeth. “Bite.” You bite the thread, and he admires his work. “So beautiful, my little one.” Nodding once, he rises. "Now. I want you to pick a number between one and ten for Papa.”

“Mmm,” you protest, a tear rolling down your cheek. He looks down at you.

"Do I have to ask twice?”

Your fingers tremble, as you try to think of a number. Normally you and your partner were symbiotic. Couldn’t you guess what he was thinking on the best of days?

“My guess is 6.”

“A good guess, cara. Very good. But wrong. It was 666.”

"That’s not fa–” His glare tells you it’s unwise to protest. He walks back over to the table, placing the bloody needle back down. “But since you guessed half of this, I will go easy this time.” He counts the weapons and paraphernalia, and comes up on a butcher knife. You take a deep breath, a shiver running through you. “Are you frightened?”

You tremble, and see how he’s smiling like the devil incarnate. He walks over to something in the corner of the room, and you realize from the blinking red light that it’s a camera on a tripod. He presses record on it, then goes to start some music on a small player.

“It is experimental, they tell me. The studios will probably cast it out of their hands, but this would make for a wonderfully evocative music video.” He presses [record](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DV7vSO0e5c1Y&t=ZGIxMjMxZDQ2MDQ0OWQ5NGRmZjljNDhjOWJhMTg2NDAwMDRmZDdhMixlbG5KbGt2bQ%3D%3D&b=t%3ARjEQbs4yaJlyb9AapoSzZw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fheadoverhiddles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F189600911898%2Fthaeter-marilyn-manson-x-reader-smut&m=1), and walks back over. First, he picks up your leg, pressing kisses all the way up it. Then he lets go.

You hear him behind the chair, but you can’t turn to keep him in sight. The cold steel of the long, sharp knife drags across your forearm, barely deep enough to scratch. He saws it back, a little harder this time. Then again, and you start to feel the edge slice.

“OhPapa,” you gasp, head rolling down, and you feel a few drops of blood roll as he cuts deeper. An excruciating scream is threatening to rip from you, and he senses this, covering your mouth with a gloved hand from behind you. He moves it down to grope and massage your breasts.

He reaches down between your legs, gently dragging his finger up and down. He looks up at the camera lens, the silent watcher, stares at it like a powerful deity playing with his sacrifice.

“You are my whore, hm?” he whispers in your ear, “My beautiful whore. An erotic plaything for Papa.”

You grind your hips, biting your lip in a momentary slip of memory. You bite down on the thread wound, and cry out at the pain. Dipping two gloved fingers inside of you, Copia gives another saw of the knife, and this time, you watch the blood gush out over your arm, down to your thigh, running down finally to the floor, seeping into the cracks in which the sigils are carved. You’re beginning to feel light headed at the sight.

“Yes,” you gasp out.

“So nice,” he whispers in your ear, “I love the way you fucking _bleed_.”

“Mmmgmmd,” you moan through his hand, eyes rolling back. Your moans begin to rise in pitch, putting on a show for the video.

“Go on, then. Scream. No one can hear you but me.” A couple more drops hit the ground, and he lets your arm go, taking out a bandage and wrapping you up to stop the bleeding. You take a deep breath, the pain washing over you in throbbing waves like an orgasm would.

“You call that going easy?” you whisper.

He slaps you across the face, and grabs you by your chin. Just as he’s about to snarl something horrifying in your ear or hit you again, there’s a knock at the door. Copia freezes, as do you. He lets you go, turns the camera and music off, and gently strokes the side of your face.

“Bene. This can go one of two ways, Sister.” He picks up a small bullet-shaped device from the table. “You behave yourself and don’t make any noise, and I reward you when I’m back.” He glances back at the table. “You know the alternative, si?” You swallow, and he advances on you, stroking up your neck and leaning in. “If you make noise… you will have to be disciplined. You see this, no?”

You nod slowly, and wonder what it is that he’s holding. There’s another knock at the front door, this time more insistent, and Copia carefully reaches between your legs, inserting the cool metal device into you. You gasp softly, and wonder if it’s an actual weapon of some sort. What if it’s some kind of terrifying antique capsule the Church kept in their historical archives or something? What if there’s ashes, or traces of the black plague in it? He wouldn’t put you in that kind of danger for a sex game would he?

“Hush,” Copia whispers, taking off his mitre carefully and setting it on the table, “I will be quick.” With that, he walks out of the room, closing it silently. You see the doorknob turn as he locks it, and fear creeps back in as all light but one candle left filters out.

Copia gives his hands a quick rinse in the sink, just in case, and goes to check out the peephole. It was most likely a ghoul come to approve something, or Imperator to remind him of another duty he hadn’t even started to think about yet. Another three bangs on the door. _“Ai! I come with news!”_

Of course. Terzo.

Copia swings the door open. “What are you doing here? You realize I am Papa, right? You must address me this way?” Terzo walks in past him with a ‘feh’, feeling his way through the pitch black house. “Ehhh—I don’t think now is a very good time, T—“

“Grazie per l'invito,” Terzo grins, already grabbing a wine bottle from the rack, “Care for a glass?”

“Eh… no.”

Papa takes out his case of cigarettes, plucking one out and holding it up. “Permettimi?”

“Go ahead,” Copia sighs. Papa lights up, pulling a seat for himself and crossing his legs. 

“So! No company for the weekend, _Papa_?”

Copia runs a hand through his hair. “Actually, I’ve got a Sister tied up in front of my altar. I am torturing her.” Terzo laughs, pouring himself some chardonnay.

“Good one. You know, when I was Papa, I had men and women in my bed all the time!”

“Ah,” Copia huffs.

“Si, there was never a lonely night. But, eh… at least you have your rats.”

“At the very least,” Copia deadpans. Reaching into his pocket, he presses a button, and turns up a dial. _Time to put his lover to the test._ In your dark room, the device inside of you starts to vibrate. _Oh, shit._ You readjust, hoping it stays where it is. _You can handle it. You can make your Papa proud._

“What about that lovely Sister I see walking with you in the gardens?” Terzo exhales, winking. “She is your bella, no?” Copia rolls up the dial higher.

“She is none of your business.” In the room, you bite down on your bottom lip. _Oh god, that’s good._ The bullet has gone a little deeper, and it’s starting to vibrate right against your g-spot. You keep your gasps to a minimum, desperate not to disappoint. As the pressure builds though, you start to really worry. You can barely keep it together, and if you let out any kind of audible noise, you’re terrified of what he’ll do. Escaping isn’t an option– he’d just make the punishment worse. You breathe heavily, trying not to scream. You can hear them talking in the distance, by the kitchen. _Fuck, you’re gonna cum._ You picture Copia shoving the vibrator in and out of you, growling as he tells you all the dirty things he’s gonna do to you with his cock. _Fuck, fuck, you want him._

Terzo puts a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I was simply asking for your good health. You know, it is nice sometimes to have an actual person to fuck instead of your fist.”

“Don’t start.”

Papa laughs. “What is it you watch for pleasure? That silly cartoon show?”

“That was a tasteless rumor.”

“Ahhh, I’m sorry Cardinale. You are too easy! Or in this case, easy enough.”

Copia growls, his patience wearing thin. “I am not a Cardinal, and I, as Papa, order you to leave my room.”

“Fine,” Papa sighs, and stands. “But I did come here with a purpose. Your fire ghoul despises his new uniform, and ate it.”

“He what?”

“Consumed it.”

Copia stares at Terzo for a very long time, then nods. “Bene. I appreciate the news. I will see you at dinner.” Terzo gives a quick bow.

Just then, a soft moan drifts from down the hall. Something sadistic glimmers in Copia’s eyes.

“Not as lonely as I thought,” Terzo smirks. Copia expects him to leave. He doesn’t.

“You want to see my pet?” Copia quirks an eyebrow up. Terzo crushes his cigarette.

“Very much.”

You’re confused to hear two pairs of footsteps coming down the hall. Holding your breath, you wonder if Copia’s gotten into trouble with Imperator for harming one of the Siblings, or if a ghoul got too curious and Copia was about to punish them too. Instead when the door opens, you see Papa Emeritus the Third’s eyes running over you. Suddenly, you feel the need to cover yourself. You’re reminded all too quickly that you’re naked under your bindings, breasts and cunt exposed to anyone who can see. Terzo seems to appreciate the view, however. You relax as Copia comes up behind him.

“A sight to see,” Terzo muses, “What have you done with this precious little thing, hm?”

“We have been playing a game of sorts,” Copia tells him. Terzo notes the slashes on your arm already, and the blood dripping from your lip.

“You have already played quite a bit, si?”

“Yes,” Copia mumbles. “But we still have so far to go.”

“Would that I could be a part of such pleasure,” Terzo sighs, with no small amount of drama.

“Would you pleasure me too, sir?” you ask him. You both look to Copia, who nods his head once.

“Sir,” Terzo hums, coming over to take your chin in his white gloved hand. “You have taught your pet well, Papa.”

“Thank you,” Copia breathes. You see how into it he is, watching the older of the two stroke your face and get blood on my gloves.

“You dare to bleed on my gloves?” Terzo teases. “You leave your mark on me as I would on you, hm?” You let out a shaky breath. “It’s okay. I can wash.” He saunters over to inspect the instruments of torture. “What do we have here?”

“Her next punishment,” Copia tells him. He bites his lip slightly, sucking some of the paint into his mouth. Terzo chooses one as Copia comes over to you.

“While I was talking to him. Did you cum?”

“No!”

“Is this the truth? I can feel if your cunt is wet with a single finger.”

“It’s the truth, Papa. Please believe me.”

Silence. He slips his gloves back on. Then you feel his hand run down your neck, and he gropes your breast painfully, exploitatively. “Nevertheless. You failed.” You swallow, nodding shakily. Terzo walks over with something. Copia eyes it warily, the edge disappearing from his gaze. “I did not plan on using that.”

“Come, Papa,” Terzo smiles, “Don’t be a spoilsport. We up the stakes a little, si?”

Reluctantly and with a worried glance your way, Copia begins cutting your ropes loose. You feel hopeful for a moment, but it’s short lived when you see Terzo hiding something behind his back. As soon as you’re free, you drop to your knees in front of the chair, and the air leaves your lungs as you gaze at what he has in his hand.

“Lift your pretty face up, cara,” Terzo whispers, and takes your chin again in his gloved hand. You stutter out the ghost of his name, sound barely leaving you. He just pets your head softly, hushing you. “You have been good for Papa, mm? Now you will be good for me.” He presses the gentlest of kisses to the top of your cheekbone, then an even softer, sweeter one to your lips, leaving behind some of his black paint there. You yearn for more of his touch as he backs away from you, but he hands you what he’s been holding instead. It’s an old pistol. Copia’s voice cuts through your shocked haze. “How many bullets?” he murmurs, voice wavering.

You look up at him, starting to shiver again. Your mascara is trailing down your cheeks, and you’ve got Papa’s lipstick staining your jaw now. “What?” you breathe.

“How many bullets are in it?” You look down at the weapon. It’s a lot heavier than it looks. You don’t want to answer his question, in fear of getting it wrong. “It is not a trick, Sister. I’m simply asking you to know what you think,” he tells you.

You swallow. “Six?” Terzo smirks, ever so slightly.

“You think your Papa would put a fully loaded gun in your hands?” You nod solemnly, and Copia bites his lip, obviously turned on by the amount of power you believe he holds.

“I might, dolce. But, eh… not this one.”

“Is it empty?” you mumble out, voice paper thin and cracking. You wipe at your trailing makeup, and he watches you.

“I would not go that far.”

Papa’s grin widens. “Go on. Put it in your mouth.”

“Terzo—”

“It is only a game, eh? You said this yourself!”

You look from him to the door. Both men see what you’re thinking, and you realize you’re not going anywhere. With some difficulty, you slip the barrel of the gun into your mouth. Copia watches as Terzo instructs you.

“Suck.”

You let out a small whimper, and start to descend down on it, coming back up. Copia sits down in a velvet armchair positioned across the room from you. Terzo comes over behind you, urging you gently up onto all fours. “Let’s put on a show for him, hm?” he growls in your ear, patting your ass. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lick the barrel again. “You can do better than that, Sister. Pretend it’s… his cock,” Terzo says, glancing up at Copia, who’s enraptured. “Or mine.” He grinds his hips against your ass, and you feel the outline of his filled out bulge. Aroused by the man behind you, you start to move a little faster. Copia pours himself a cocktail glass of absinthe in one hand gifted to him by the Third upon his ascension, and takes a sip. One hand comes down languidly, as he props one leg up.

_Fuck, he’s hot._

Your pussy clenches, and Terzo rocks his hips against you again. “You have a safe word with Papa, si?” he asks softly. You nod. “Tell me.”

“Morte.”

“Bene. You say this to me too if you need to stop.” Terzo grinds again, letting out a groan as his cock twitches from your warm skin against the front of his pants. Copia still sits there above you, drinking in his luxurious armchair, watching you put on a show for his morbid amusement.

You drag your tongue up the barrel of the gun, and close your mouth around the tip of it. Copia watches intently, taking another sip of milky green alcohol. He holds his glass in one hand, and moans as he parts his robes, begins palming his bulge. He speaks finally.

“You know how to please me so with your tongue.”

“Thank you, Papa,” you whisper, taking the gun to the very back of your throat. Copia exhales sharply.

“Say you are my little slut.”

“I am. I’m your little slut.” Terzo’s hands come to rub down your arms, and you grimace as they come in contact with the still weeping wounds from the knife. Copia rubs slow circles over his cock where it’s tenting his black dress pants, watches the blood ooze, sees your hair get in the way, stuck to your wet face as you try your best to please him. You get even deeper, until Copia sees your hand sliding down. “That’s enough. Take the gun out, si? Take it out.” You jerk your head up in confusion, and see him stand. Terzo stops humping you from behind, and joins Copia. Copia looks down at himself, blood pumping.

“Aim it here,” he pats his chest, then nods to you with a wild look in his eye.

“Co—”

“Pull the trigger.”

You stare at him for a very long time, as does the former Papa. This was too far. You couldn’t kill the Papa! Just when he _became_ Papa! You’d be killed for trying to take over the Ministry, or some preposterous accusation that would be the farthest thing from the truth. Besides, that was your Copia. You don’t know what you’d do if you accidentally hurt him. You start to say your safe word… but you stop. The fear was arousing you beyond belief. Maybe you could do as he says; he seems confident enough in you. You pull the trigger, and it clicks.

“Again.”

“Copia!”

“What did you call me?”

“I can’t–!”

“Pull it, cazzo.”

You pull it. _Click._

He takes a long sip of his drink. “One more time for Papa.” You stare at him like he’s out of his mind. Maybe he is.

“Perhaps she shouldn’t,” Terzo tries to whisper to him. Copia’s already set in what he wants, adrenaline pumping through him.

“If you kill me you will make me even stronger,” he growls, and you pull the trigger, eyes squeezing shut as you prepare for the hole in his chest. He walks over, takes the gun from you after the last click, takes the safety off, and aims at the wall.

_BANG._

You scream, and he drops the gun and his glass, letting it shatter and grabbing you by the hips. His hands slip as you jump to your feet, running for the door. You successfully throw it open, and run down the hall, nearly slipping, but you regain your balance. You can hear him behind you. Copia lets out a growl of frustration, and finally in the kitchen pounces on you from behind, grabbing your wrists. He puts a hand over your mouth, tugging your hair back so that you’re leaning into his chest. You manage to wriggle out of his grasp, but Terzo blocks your way from the other side of the kitchen, sandwiching you between the two. Copia takes his glove off your mouth, tossing you to the floor and getting on top of you.

“Maybe I go get the ropes, yes?” Terzo asks. “That will ensure she cannot escape.” You moan. Copia lifts up your legs, and pulls your panties down to your feet. You try to kick, but Terzo comes to kneel and hold your head, softly stroking it. “You were so good before,” he murmurs, “Don’t you want to make us proud?” You let out a sob, and Copia turns you over, tying your hands together behind your back.

“Rules are made for a reason, you know this,” Copia tells you, “This is why you don’t break them. This is why you don’t run.” You hear him unzip his pants, and you moan, grinding back as best you can as tears begin to flow freely down your cheeks. He holds you still, and you finally hear his relieved sigh as he takes out his hard cock.

“I’m so-orry, Papa.”

“Shh. I know.” He digs his fingernails into you painfully.

“Ow, ow, ah…”

“So beautiful. Seeing you wrecked like this stirs me. Can you pleasure the former Papa as you pleasure me below?” Almost immediately, you open your mouth and slide your tongue out. Terzo’s eyes darken, and he unbuckles himself. Your entire body heaves with want as you squirm to taste him—you don’t have to wait long. He lifts your head so that you’re facing downward into his lap.

“Two taps,” he whispers, tapping your nose twice. Soon enough, the head of his cock is just pushing past your lips, sliding down your tongue. His hot flesh slides all the way to the back of your mouth, and you try to move your face so he’ll fuck harder. When he does begin to thrust into your mouth, more tears come. Behind you, Copia is taking full advantage of your helpless position, using you to get himself off as Terzo is from the front.

“Fuck,” Copia growls, slamming his hips hard into your ass.

“You are the perfect little cum dump,” the former Papa groans. “You take us so well, Sorella. I have never met one so willing.” The whole time, he maintains eye contact with you, and takes your hand in his in case you need to tap out. Copia’s fingers tighten around the back of your neck.

“You like to bleed for us to see?” he grunts. All you can do is moan. “The blood you sacrifice to me is so pure,” he hisses. “You devote yourself so willingly to me and to our Lord.” Copia sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and at the same time, his thrusts stutter, quickening. You let out a breath of urgency through your nose. You had been on the edge for almost an hour now. He starts to pump himself into you fast as he takes the blood from your arm and rubs it down your back. The sensation of this and the intense stinging coming from the open wounds on your body help you along, as Terzo abuses your mouth even harder.

Copia suddenly jerks you up onto your knees, and starts mouthing at your neck. Terzo holds his cock in hand, eyes darting to the counter. “Use the knife.” Copia glances over, and sees the butcher knife on the counter from chopping vegetables earlier. With a quick move, he takes it and holds it to your neck as Terzo enters your mouth again.

“If Papa were to slit your pretty throat right now cara, the blood would feel so good gushing over my cock,” Terzo whispers. Your eyes widen. Copia lets out a deep groan as he slides back inside you. He begins to move, not giving a fuck about the comfort of your position, and you scream around the cock in your mouth, tears rolling freely down your bruised face. Still, your fingers remain clutching Terzo’s thigh, and still, you don’t tap.

“Let your Papas take you so fully,” Copia hisses, pounding in, “Receive my seed below, and his above. Remember, however—even if your stomach is pumped full of his spending, you are mine. Yes? You belong to me.”

“Yes,” you moan, and he tugs your hair back sharply, so that your neck is exposed better. Terzo scowls, leaning forward to fuck back in at the new angle.

“Wouldn’t you look so lovely bleeding on an altar for all to see?”

“The perfect sacrifice,” Terzo hisses. The older of the two bites your bottom lip where the needle hole is, effectively ripping the thread out with his teeth, and slips his tongue into your mouth, making out with you through the blood. Barely conscious from the stratified pleasure and pain, you kiss Terzo back feverishly, until you feel your orgasm build from the conflicting sources of adrenaline. Your moan is drawn out, and Copia starts to breathe heavily, building into a loud scream as Terzo’s hand flies to his cock to pull out and jerk himself onto your tongue.

Copia relaxes back, his seed dripping down your thigh. He transfixed gaze moves from that to Terzo’s hurried motions, and the seizing of his body when he finally shoots all over your tongue. You drop to the floor, exhausted. Copia falls with you, holding your head, and Terzo braces himself on the counter, catching his breath.

“Everything alright?” Copia murmurs, sounding utterly wrecked.

“Mhmm,” you smile, eyes closed. “That was good.” You open one eye. “Terrifying as all hell, but good.”

“You are okay, yeah? I didn’t… well, I hurt you, but… heh. You know.”

“It was rougher than anything we’ve done,” you tell him. “But it was nice. I would’ve told you to stop if I didn’t want it.”

“I’m going to send a ghoul for some polysporin,” he huffs.

“I will get Special to do it,” Terzo mutters, already getting out his phone.

“Some towels too, eh?” Copia adds. “Sister, are you cold?”

“A little.”

“Blankets too then!”

“Do I look like the fucking help?” Terzo snaps, texting out a message to his ghoul.

“I am the Papa, so you do as I say,” Copia shoots back. “Maybe a heating pad too. Tea, massage oil, bandaids! I have bandaids here, I will get you patched up—”

“Copia, I’ll be asleep before you get all that done,” you yawn.

“Ah ah. Care, then rest.” He wags his finger. “You know the rules. I learned from the Second all the best tricks.” You giggle at his change in demeanor. You were legitimately afraid of him not half an hour ago, and now he’s running around getting all these supplies to take care of you. Copia never once ended a session badly.

“Come here,” you moan.

“Cara, I cannot. I am getting banda—”

“Bandaids can wait for two minutes.” You beckon him, and he comes over in a huff. You pull him down, and give him a lazy kiss. Copia melts into it, cheeks reddening under his skull paint.

“I truly hope you enjoyed,” he murmurs.

“You know I did.” You take his hand, and suck one of his fingers into your mouth with the traces of your arousal still on them. 

“You’re my muse, you know.” You turn, indulging him. “I couldn’t get any work done last night on the album. My mind was racing. Could not stop the voices that told me I wasn’t enough, that I am an imposter wearing a mitre. You make me forget this. You inspire my art. You embrace everything that’s odd about me.”

“I’m always here, Papa.” You move closer to him, so that your noses are almost touching. “Whenever you need me, I’m here to be odd with you.”

“Si, a bottle of champagne,” Terzo says on the room’s rotary phone. “You know the one I like, the Spanish one. Strawberries, but all the nice ones. Give the ugly bruised ones to Secondo’s vicious dogs. They are vicious, one ate my hairbrush!”

“What are you doing?” Copia demands.

“Ordering food and drink from your private line,” Terzo whispers. “You are hungry and thirsty, no?”

“Si, but—they will think I am fucking you!”

 _“I see nothing wrong with this.”_ You smile, and Copia sighs. He kisses your nose, then quickly darts away.

“Alright. You are bleeding on my chasuble. Don’t fear! I was trained in first aid!”

Somehow, you doubt that. 


End file.
